Vultures In The Sky, I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House

The Disliked

Vultures In The Sky

I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House

Every great once in a while, something comes along to remind you of what rock 'n' roll is supposed to sound like, to push rock's essence and spirit into your veins and manipulate your heart and mind. I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House -- their full moniker is borrowed from bare-knuckle legend John L. Sullivan's vivid biography -- is a raucous quintet out of Portland, Oregon, and one of those rare throwback-catalysts. For the past couple of months, they have been on an erratic, scorched-earth campaign of the Western states, making instant believers out of audience after audience. I Can Lick's heady mix of Americana and punk reminiscent of Robbie Robertson and the Band, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, and Black Flag -- has also converted dozens of marquee-mates, who have learned the hard way that following I Can Lick on the bill is often an embarrassing situation.

. . At night, Mike Damron exorcises demons -- his own, and often, his audience's -- only to have them return by the next evening, providing for a neverending struggle. Offstage, the band's creator, songwriter and frontman is the nicest fellow you'd ever want to meet, a family man and seemingly normal joe. Behind the mic, however, he's a madman. Stalking the stage like a pulpit-less, barefooted preacher and playing a guitar that looks like it was pulled out of a dumpster fire, Damron rants and shouts and sings his way through some of the most powerful songs you will ever hear. Onstage, Damron will say that his songs are all about "death and fucking," but they're much more than that. I Can Lick's typical set list also covers depression, alienation, heartache, loss, a dysfunctional, lonely childhood; rage, determination, love, and sonic assaults on the right-wing establishment that Damron clearly despises. Together, the searingly personal lyrics and swing-from-the-heels music (played by five ass-kickers who, save for their baby-faced bassist, are so wild and woolly they make Skynyrd look like Ivy League frat-boys) alternately stuns and galvanizes an audience. Indeed, witnessing I Can Lick's live show is akin to a tortured, desperate soul stumbling into an old-fashioned tent revival...